


In Need of Assistance

by bluecrownedmotmot



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecrownedmotmot/pseuds/bluecrownedmotmot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post pacifist ending. Mettaton considers whom he needs to help him manage his surface life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Need of Assistance

“You'll be honest with me, Blooky, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I'm doing something stupid? No matter how famous I am?”

“Um. I guess?”

“I need you to, Blooky.”

“Okay. I'll do my best.”

“It's important.”

“Oh,” Napstablook got up from their laptop and glided around the rehearsal room. “Why?” The ghost glanced at Mettaton, who was frowning at his own computer.

“Because I'm surrounded by people who either kiss my ass or are intensely critical,” the robot spat, flipping the computer onto the floor. The screen went blank. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh, no... Were you writing lyrics?”

“I was, but I switched to reading my e-mail. The lyrics should be saved. At any rate, I remember what I had down.”

“Was your e-mail what was upsetting you?”

“I'm just stressed, sweetheart,” said Mettaton, flipping his hair off of his face with a shake of his head. “There are a lot of messages.”

“Oh. Maybe you shouldn't do so much yourself? Do you think you should hire an assistant at this point?” Napstablook considered. “Maybe one of your former employees? Just ask one of them... I mean, if you think it's a good idea...”

“Dearest, that's a brilliant idea! But who... _Oh_. Oh, _yes_. I know. I know just the person.”

 

Burgerpants looked down at his phone as the subway car hurtled through tunnels. This conversation shone up at him:

> **please meet me asap, 939 8** **th** **ave (room 3A), xoxoxo mtt**
> 
> why
> 
> **business, darling**
> 
> no
> 
> **i know u moved to this city**
> 
> creepy
> 
> **undernet, darling**
> 
> **we're friends, remember?**
> 
> my biggest regret
> 
> **i basically can't live w/o u**
> 
> **it's agony**
> 
> **also I won't stop texting u**
> 
> **ever**
> 
> **burgerpants**
> 
> **kitten**
> 
> **dumpling**
> 
> **light of my life**
> 
> stop. I need an hour to get there. ok?
> 
> **perfection. i'll be here**

_And I here I thought I had escaped his clutches_ , thought Burgerpants ruefully, resting the back of his head against the car window so that he could stare at the ceiling.

 

Burgerpants navigated a sea of showgirls in the old building's lobby, shared the elevator with a couple of humans in sweatpants holding rapiers, almost ran into a woman with a double bass in a hallway. He knocked on the door of the room at the end of the hall. Nobody heard him, probably because electronic music was playing inside. He stared at the time sheet on the door, trying to verify if he had the right place. The entire day was blocked off, but there was no name in the block. There was, however, a heart drawn in pink ink in the center. He tried the door. It swung open. He looked in just as the song came to an end.

 

“I adore it,” said the voice of Mettaton.

“Really?” said the voice of Napstablook.

“You're a brilliant composer, my dear. But I think Shyren should sing it. I think the melody goes out of my range at the end.”

“Oh... I wasn't thinking. I meant to write this for you... Could you take it down an octave on those notes?”

“Darling, that would ruin the beauty of the phrase, don't you think?”

“Oh... Maybe I should delete the whole thing...”

“Blooky. Please. I don't want you to change a thing. I can just hear her singing it.”

“Oh no...”

“Oh yes!”

“Am I interrupting anything?” called Burgerpants.

“No, of course not. Blooky, _don't cry_. I'll open the window and throw you out if you don't close that file _this instant_ ,” threatened Mettaton.

 

Burgerpants shut the door quietly behind him. The room turned a corner past the entrance.

“Here, darling.” Mettaton said.

Burgerpants almost didn't see the robot in the mostly empty room. Mettaton was in the outside corner by the window. He sat on the floor, his back against a wall. He was concentrating intently on whatever was on the screen of his laptop.

Napstablook had their own computer open on the other side of the room; however, they were currently melted into an ethereal puddle of self pity on the floor. Burgerpants didn't know the ghost well, but he knew that they were bandmates with Mettaton. He assessed that now was not the time to try to talk to them. He exchanged polite greetings with the distraught ghost before strolling over to the robot and sitting on the floor. Burgerpants had to carefully select a space between the sorted stacks of letters, sheet music, and contract paperwork arrayed around Mettaton.

 

“So, how have you been?” asked Mettaton, setting his computer down.

“Uh, busy, I guess,” replied Burgerpants. All of the monsters had had hectic days, moving belongings, arranging accommodations, and re-establishing their lives on the surface.

Mettaton chewed on his knuckle distractedly. He had been in a state of hyperfocus ever since he had set foot on the surface. Things were going well. A human television station had picked up one of his old shows, and it was gathering a dedicated following with this new audience. In a relatively short span of time, he had secured an agent, pulled off a handful of small performances with Napstablook and Shyren, and closed on a penthouse apartment in the smaller city near Mount Ebott. That was where most of the monsters had settled, and Mettaton wanted to live amongst them. He could easily fly to the large city they were in currently for business as needed.

“So, you wanted to see me?” prompted Burgerpants.

“Yes. I'm sorry I had to send you to our rehearsal space. I hope you didn't have difficulty getting downtown. We've been in here for days working more-or-less nonstop. Anyway, I have a job for you,” said Mettaton.

“Serving tacos this time?” sighed Burgerpants.

“No, no, no,” replied Mettaton, waving his hand.

“Well, what?”

 

Mettaton stared up at the window, into the sky. “Allow me to change the subject. You're in this city. You want to be an actor, right?”

“Yeah...”

“Do you want to be famous?”

“Of course.”

Mettaton turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Burgerpants. Some part in the back of his eye was reflective, and his left pupil sparkled like a dull ruby in the dusty sunbeam from the window. “Why?”

Burgerpants squirmed. “Uh, really? Didn't you yourself want to be famous?”

“Yes. But I'm asking _you_.”

Burgerpants considered. “Receiving respect, I guess.”

“Then my advice is don't bother,” replied Mettaton, turning back to the window.

“Why?” bristled Burgerpants. “Do you think I can't make it?”

“I have no opinion on that. I'm just telling you don't pursue it because you want validation. Why don't you take some classes? Audition for small shows first?”

“I will. I need some money to start. Did you call me here to give me unsolicited advice?”

“No, of course not. I'm just talking to you.”

“Just get to the point.”

“I need your help. I'd like you to assist me with some things.”

“Yeah, I bet you would.” Mettaton had his legs out in front of him. Burgerpants ran an extended claw down the arched sole of the robot's nearest booted foot. Mettaton closed his eyes and his mouth ticked upward on one side. He opened his eyes again and glanced at his cousin, who was now prone on the floor, headphones on, facing away from them. He looked back at Burgerpants.

“I'm being serious. I'm overwhelmed. Could you, darling? I'm sure it'd be some improvement. It's a promotion.”

 

Burgerpants stared at him warily.

“It's not glamorous. I'm asking you first,” said Mettaton.

“What kinds of things do you want me to do?”

Mettaton stared into space in silence before replying. “Well, I can't... Read my e-mail.”

“Huh?”

Mettaton pushed the laptop over to him. “For example.”

Burgerpants skimmed the message that was open.

Mettaton let him read for a while before explaining. “They're not all like that, of course. One is not bad, but repetitively, over time, from multiple people...”

Burgerpants considered. “Yeah, I feel so bad for you. It's a drag to have someone tell you you suck,” he said pointedly.

Mettaton was about to respond but then cut himself off when that clicked. He rubbed his face. “Burgerpants, people will tell you that as an actor, you know. If you're not trying, you'll get called out on it. If you're doing your best, and it's not enough. Get used to it.”

“Why are you not used to it?”

“I am. But when you get famous, it's like...” Mettaton's expression was uncharacteristically denuded of artifice. “It can strike a nerve, sometimes. Things you worry privately about yourself and someone you never met comes right out and says them. Maybe it's just dumb luck that they speculate on just the thing that you want to hide the most. But it stays with you if you immerse yourself in it. Could you screen things for me, darling? And do social media? Physical mail? Respond to routine business messages?”

“Well, there is a certain appeal to seeing how many people think you're terrible.”

Mettaton laughed. “You're just the person for the job, then. Look, I'll help you out. If there's some minor theatrical thing you'd work out for, I'll ask you.”

“Well...”

Mischief crept back into Mettaton's face. “I can just imagine it now. I'll dress you as a box MTT mascot. It'll be riveting.”

“In front of other people?”

“Didn't you want to be more rectangular?” Mettaton giggled. “Maybe you can be something more scenic. Like... A bush, or something.”

“No way in hell am I doing that.”

“Oh, we'll see about that, darling. I'll pay you well. And you can take time off for your own pursuits.”

Burgerpants sighed dramatically. “Why do I do this? Okay. I guess.”

Mettaton smiled, “Good. Start tomorrow.”

“But _I'm_ not done unpacking...”

“Oh, well, I guess I'll continue to suffer, reading my hate mail, wondering if life is worth living...” lamented Mettaton loudly.

“Man, you're manipulative.”

“Of course. Did you think surface life had changed anything?” said Mettaton, fluttering his lashes. “Speaking of unpacking... By the way, we're going on tour. And I'm returning to Mount Ebott long-term afterward.”

“I just rented-”

“So? Break your lease after this month. I'll write you a check. How much would that set you back?”

Burgerpants told him. “Maybe this will actually be a good opportunity,” Burgerpants mused, “I could network, save some money, get some experience...”

“Mmm,” said Mettaton, writing out the check without hesitating to Burgerpants' full real name and thinking of what embarrassing thing he should write on the “FOR:” line of the check. He settled on “being my slave” and mentally queued up more for the future.

“A: I'm a little shocked you remember my actual name, B: that's too much money, and C: you're a prick, _sir_ ,” sighed Burgerpants, observing this.

“Of course I remember. Signing bonus. What? You're so uptight. They'll cash it. You can put anything there.” He tucked the check into the back pocket of Burgerpants' jeans. “There you go.”

“Thanks. And joke's on you; I'll deposit it electronically.”

“Ah well. At least it'll live on in the bank's check images. Forever.” Mettaton stuck his tongue out.

“So. I'll start tomorrow,” relented Burgerpants. “But I still hate you.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” said Mettaton with glee. “Glad to have you back, kiddo.”

 

When Burgerpants had left, Mettaton sat down beside the ghost. Napstablook removed their headphones.

“Cousin, please try to be less type A,” said Mettaton kindly. “I can't stand it when you get upset.”

“You're the same way,” replied Napstablook.

“And I try to temper it. But you know I think you're spectacular. I don't mind if you do something less than perfect.”

“I don't want to disappoint you...”

“You never disappoint me. I disappoint you. I'm grateful that you forgive me my faults. Which are many.”

“Don't look at your e-mail anymore,” said Napstablook.

“I won't,” Mettaton promised.

“Do you want to... Take a break to lie on the floor?” inquired Napstablook.

“I'm down. But let's not feel like we're garbage. Let's feel like we're on top of the world, darling.”

“Oh... I'll try.”

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 11 May 2016 - There was a grammatical error here. It's gone now.
> 
> While I am tending to things, if you'd like to FOLLOW or HECKLE me please do so at http://motmotfluttersforth.tumblr.com/ because it seems I will continue to expand on Undertale plots for a while to come. The blog may not be safe for work at times, so alternatively feel free to comment and stayed tuned here on AO3. 
> 
> With love,  
> Motmot


End file.
